


Promises

by Raikishi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:18:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleepy late-night comfort</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> written for trope bingo: free space (hurt/comfort)

    He wakes to the sound of rain against the window and opens his eyes to glare blearily into the darkness. At some point the heat had broken, the air entering his lungs with an ease that hadn’t been possible when hours earlier. He shuts off the fan besides the bed, letting the sound of rain take over, just enough to drown out that quiet hum of New York that persists even through the dead of night.

    The sky just outside rumbles, seconds before the wind picks up into a low howl, sending splatters of rain against his window. Steve turns on his side, throwing an arm out into the darkness instinctively, barely aware of what he’s searching for until his fingertips alight on the sleep warm figure besides him. 

    Tony grunts, shifting almost imperceptibly into the touch for a moment before burying himself deeper into the obscenely luxurious sheets he bought a week ago after complaining how Steve’s old sheets made his skin itch. Which was– quite frankly, ridiculous. Steve had very nice sheets. The thought comes to him now in the darkness, petulant, and Steve has to crack a small smile at the absurdity.

    Tony’s still sleeping soundly, eyelids fluttering in the midst of a dream, his breathing coming out deep and even. He looks peaceful, grounded, which is a strange thought because usually the billionaire looks completely out of place in Steve’s tiny Brooklyn apartment. But in the bed, barely large enough to accommodate a single super soldier, let alone his … Tony, the billionaire looks completely at ease. He hadn’t complained about the size of the bed and Steve knows it’s because the size ensures that they’re pressed close, bodies aligned. And had the day’s fight been easier, the billionaire would no doubt have taken advantage.

    Steve ignores the pleased hum through his body at the thought, sobering as Tony shifts, covers falling back to reveal the bruises decorating his body. Without thinking, Steve traces a finger against the largest, stopping when Tony grumbles something in his sleep, tugging at the blankets and burying himself in them only to emerge a moment later when the heat becomes too much.

    Steve fights down the snort of laughter, reaching over to play with grey-silver stands.

    “Go back to sleep,” comes out, slurred and mangled beyond comprehension but Steve understands anyways, wraps his arms around Tony who goes pliant and limp immediately.

    Steve feels a fierce flare of pride  that he doesn’t want to examine too closely. Instead he leans in, inhaling deep and closes his eyes.

    “Sorry,” he manages the word fighting to come out and he brushes his hands against the worst of Tony’s wounds, fingers grazing the edges of the bandages around Tony’s stomach.

    Tony nudges his arm, eyes still closed as he mumbles, “You protect me.”

    Steve says nothing, sliding his hands along Tony’s slim form, feeling for himself the blend of muscle beneath his hands as Tony shuffles closer, pressing against him, a real and present form in the darkness. He presses his face against the curve of Tony’s neck, taking comfort in the warmth of Tony’s skin and the faint musk of the man. 

    “Yeah.”


End file.
